Foulest Songbird
by Syntax-N
Summary: Fate teases, darkness falls, and the black eagle takes his wing. It's the new moon of October, and after a long day of being a doting big brother, the Dark Wizard Gilbert is determined to cast the most horrid of curses upon the humans of Volkerburg. One-shot! Fataverse!


The first floor of Piyo Fortress was a horrible mess.

Bottles and flasks of potions — some sparkling, some bubbling, some expired and crusted over — were strewn across the table and shelves. Boxes and chests, where the potions had presumably been stored before, lay open on the floor. Over on the couch lay a crumpled black and blue robe with half a new wool lining stitched in place, and hanging above the wood stove was a cauldron of potato soup that was gaining a fine gray skin from a lack of stirring.

The ancient wooden door suddenly burst open, and in stepped a creature who could've just crawled from the darkest dream. No benevolent being could be so thin his bones bulged from his frame or so pale he could pass for an animate cadaver. He was the cursed, twisted image of what could've once been a beautiful fairy. Long, dagger-like ears twitched on either side of his head, and blood-red eyes blinked in the dancing orange light coming from the wood stove.

This nightmarish creature was none other than the changeling called Gilbert. True, he could transform into any beautiful being he lay eyes on, but it was always more comfortable to keep a natural appearance. In the moment, his frightful face stretched into a truly goofy smirk. He set a covered basket among the potions, then smoothed out the robe and gave the soup the mixing it deserved. A cloud of steam puffed in his face.

"Luddy! Come down here! Didn't I tell you to stir this soup while I was gone?" He yelled in his rasping voice.

There came no reply, but Gilbert could hear the faint sound of rustling paper from two floors up. He stood next to the spiral staircase and stemmed skinny arms on his hips, glaring up at the darkness. Just what was that boy doing? Hadn't he seen the mess? He wanted to be a wizard in the future, didn't he? And _clearly_ Gilbert was preparing for some magical activities.

"I know you're up there! You can't hide from a changeling's ears! Now come down and at least stir the soup! You're good at that!"

A groan permeated the silence. Gilbert smirked. Oh, how he adored when Ludwig would actually act his age. Or, how Gilbert _thought_ he should act his age. He wasn't entirely sure how human children were supposed to act at certain ages. Raising a child who had been swapped with a changeling had been one big learning experience from the start, and considering the circumstances, it was impossible to know whether Ludwig was developing into a fine young human correctly or not.

Gilbert hoped not. Humans were brainless and worthless and powerless, and they called themselves blameless when they scorned and killed the helpless changelings swapped with their loved ones.

Gilbert shook his head and shoved his bitterness aside. Work now, revenge later. Good plan.

The small clunking of feet came from above, and ten-year-old Ludwig descended the stairs only to briskly pass by Gilbert and right to the pot of soup. He wiped his blond bangs out of his face and straightened his collar before stirring. The boy was meticulous. Always so meticulous.

"Just what have you been doing up there?" Gilbert asked playfully. He strode over and tousled Ludwig's meticulously-combed hair with knobbly fingers.

"Reading."

"Reading about what?"

"Er, um, stories."

"What stories?"

Ludwig suddenly became very interested in his stirring and fixed his rhythm so each of the spoon's trips around the pot was precise in time and depth. Icy blue eyes narrowed at the murky bubbles bursting on the surface.

"If you don't tell me what stories, I'll just have to go up and look myself. And if you say you hid them, I'll find them. My observation skills are top-notch. I know what your room looked like yesterday, and I'll pick out the changes faster than you could try to stop me."

"The wizard stories," Ludwig mumbled. "I was reading the wizard stories."

This had Gilbert grinning with all of his pointed teeth. "Reading the wizard stories again? By yourself?"

"Well… I like them. They may not be realistic, but they're tales of magic and adventure, aren't they? If I'm going to be a wizard, I should at least have some background knowledge, no matter how skewed or exaggerated it is."

"Ach, that dream of yours is impossible to break. I've tried everything, but you still have your eyes set on embellishing your humanness with magic," Gilbert teased.

"It's your fault. You raised me around it, and you named me after the most powerful wizard in Volkerburg's lore. I'm going to learn magic whether it's in my blood or not."

Gilbert's grin only stretched. "And you'll take over for me one day, won't you?"

"Ludwig von Vegel is a _good_ wizard, brother, not a dark one."

"Aren't you a cheeky little _Tauschlein_ , human-born and fairy-bred!"

Ludwig grinned, and Gilbert's ruby eyes sparkled at his little one. Funny how he possessed a heart swollen with hatred for the round-eared mundanes, but one baby human abandoned on his doorstep had somehow wrapped Gilbert around his finger and forced so much love into the changeling's life that his spite couldn't consume him. If Fate existed, she was cruel, he knew, but was it by her hand that Ludwig came to be taken from his family and left with someone who needed one? If she were real, did she give Gilbert a charge, a companion, and a brother?

 _Twisted fate,_ he thought, _but if I believed she was kind… If I believed in her at all, I'd have to thank her._

"Where were you? I didn't even know you were gone."

Gilbert held up a finger for Ludwig to wait. He meandered through the maze of potions on the floor to make it over to his basket on the table. Uncovering it, he took out a spiky gray-green pod that was pointed on one end. The basket was full of them all piled and stacked on top of each other.

"I was picking milkweed pods. I need them for a spell."

The boy's eyes brightened. "How many do you have?"

"I found quite a few of them out in the forest! I'll give you the leftovers. They're fun to play with, aren't they?"

"The fluff is so soft!"

"I know, right!? It's magical!"

"It _is!?"_

Ludwig had abandoned all his diligence with the soup and gave in to his childish wonder. He waltzed over the potion bottles to look at the pods for himself. Gilbert passed him a smaller one. He tore open the stiff, cold skin to reveal little brown seeds layered like scales, each connected to a tuft of silky, pearlescent white fiber. The slightest touch had the seeds coming loose and the fiber fluffing up in his hands.

"You can play with that outside. We don't need seeds all over the place in here. I'm certain some of these potions are for plant growth, and I know I'm going to end up spilling one trying to organize them."

"What is all this? Fall cleaning?"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "How long have you been reading up there?"

"All day."

"As usual," Gilbert muttered. "Well, clearly, if your nose has been in those old books all day, you don't even know what day it is. It's the New Moon of October! My biggest raid of the year!"

Ludwig tensed at the sharp tone, then averted his gaze as if it was shameful to have forgotten. Of course! Gilbert always put such emphasis on his raids, when he would become the Dark Wizard Gilbert and send his curses upon the humans of Volkerburg. And the bigger raids always demanded immense preparation. Potions had to be brewed and organized, the robe had to be repaired and beautified, new spells had to be researched and studied… Gilbert always made an awful mess, but when he returned the morning after, he was always in a better mood and never complained about cleaning up.

Gilbert didn't seem to mind Ludwig's forgetfulness and brushed it off as the childish behavior he _should_ be displaying. He just continued blathering on about his wicked plot.

"Dark magic always seems to be stronger in October, and since this year, the month ends in a new moon, I've been planning this raid since my last big one on Walpurgis Night. I spent the day picking out all my cruelest potions and darkest curses, and now there's the matter of making sure I can carry them all. Eagles can only carry so much, you know.

"So lately, I've been noticing all the milkweed, and it reminded me of a time when I was just a little changeling teaching myself about nature and magic. I felt like I was supposed to remember something about the milkweed, and at last I did remember I had once read of a spell that uses the fluff! It makes dark magic ten times as powerful!"

"And you ten times as sick," Ludwig chimed in. "You always end up sick when you try to enhance your power. I don't think those spells are meant for changelings. Your body is fragile, and since it already contains so much magical energy—"

"Curses drain me. If anything, I need the extra power."

Ludwig glared with those icy blue eyes, and for a moment, Gilbert felt himself cave under the influence of a much greater power than any powerful curse. Must the boy be so cold? Must he have such a commanding face? He was but _ten,_ and that face could be so intimidating sometimes!

 _Ten, ten, ten. What will you look like when you're twenty? A hulking giant with the face of a guard dog?_

"You know more about it than me," Ludwig sighed. "But _please_ be careful. I mean it. If you're going to do anything risky, think about me first."

"You're masterful!"

"No, I'm responsible."

"Then you can be responsible and help me. You stir the soup while I organize, and after supper, you can read to me while I'm sewing up my robe."

The boy pinked. "Read to you?"

 _"_ _Ja!_ Read to me! I do it enough for you!"

"But I can't do voices like you can."

"I don't care. Read it like you do. I have to leave before your bedtime, so if your efficient little brain wants everything done, a bedtime story is your responsibility."

"Right, right," Ludwig muttered as he went back to his stirring.

Gilbert smiled as he watched the rhythmic motions. Oh, what would Lud be like when he was twenty? Still so starry-eyed for the life of a wizard? Still idolizing his big brother to no end? If Gilbert survived to see the day, (which he forced himself to believe he would,) he would laugh at cruel Fate for being so frugal with his misfortune.

* * *

" _'_ _For the first time, Ludwig von Vegel came face-to-face with the Tiny-yet-Terrible dragon, and they stared a great while after each other, as each had noticed the mark.'_

 _'_ _By my claws, you had perished!' The dragon shouted._

 _'_ _By your claws, a counterfeit was slain,' Ludwig replied._

 _He approached in earnest, and the dragon grew fearful._

 _'_ _Why do you look so angry? You bear the mark of my village. You were born in the same place I was born. Born under the same stars around the same rocks and trees. We are kin. Cousins.'_

 _But Ludwig wound back his fist and struck the dragon on the snout, roaring, 'I will not be cousins with such a beast!'_ "

"My favorite part," Gilbert chuckled as he finished the last few stitches. His robe how had a warm new lining, perfect for keeping his scrawny body warm in the chilly autumn air. He folded it up and placed it in a satchel with his flute case.

"I think it's my favorite part, too," Ludwig said.

" _Ja,_ I know that. You used to nearly throw a tantrum every time the dragon did anything, and when he finally got what he deserved, you'd jump out of bed and want to cheer!"

"No I didn't. You're making that up."

"I am not making it up. You had a pure little heart of justice, and you shouted, _'You show him, Ludwig!'"_

"Don't mimic my voice. It's weird. Why did you name me Ludwig, anyway?"

"I don't know. It just popped into my head. I think it fits you. Something about your eyes." Gilbert stretched his arms above his head. He grimaced as his joints popped. "It's time for the milkweed spell. It won't take me long to prepare, so will you please bring my satchel upstairs for me?"

"But we're almost done with this chapter!"

"So now you _want_ to read more."

"Well, I like this part."

"I'm afraid we'll have to continue tomorrow night. It's getting late, and I have a long way to fly. Besides, it's past your bedtime. I'm already behind schedule."

Ludwig frowned, but he acquiesced and lay the book down to pick up Gilbert's satchel and carry it upstairs. Gilbert retrieved the basket of milkweed pods, blew out the candles on the first floor, and followed.

Piyo Fortress, in spite of its name, was only a single tower. The second floor was Gilbert's bedroom, and the third was Ludwig's. The boy was already securing the curtains on either side of the great window next to his bed so the twinkling stars were visible.

"It's later than I thought! We'd better hurry," Gilbert muttered. He opened a book on Ludwig's desk and turned to his bookmarked page.

 _ **~A Magic Puff of Milkweed Fluff~  
** **A charm for the enhancement of dark magicks in faeries. Best if prepared in mid-autumn.**_

The materials were listed — a mere seven milkweed pods and a bit of woolen fabric and thread. The work would come in extracting the magic from the fluff. Gilbert had already translated the diagram of the spell into a song, (as he possessed the Gift of Music and could weave spells with songs,) and had practiced the fingerings the day before.

"It may be a devilish invasive plant, but milkweed is especially good for enhancing magic power. After all, it gives caterpillars the power to transform into butterflies."

"I don't think that's magic."

"Then you explain how a fat, ugly worm transforms into a delicate, winged insect."

The boy screwed up his face, but was ultimately at a loss.

"Have you ever wondered why the words _Schmetterling_ and _Schmetterdämon_ are so similar? Butterflies and changelings are both magical. We both transform ourselves. We're both deceptive with our appearances."

"And legends say you both steal cream."

 _"_ _Ja,_ we both steal cream! Of course! That reminds me I need to steal some tonight, if I can carry it. Cream is the sweetest, most delicious life-giving nectar in the world to a fairy of darkness. Now, like I was saying, butterflies and fairies in general have many similarities, so butterfly magic will certainly help enhance fairy magic."

"And how do you get butterfly magic?"

"First, I have to separate out the fluff and scatter the seeds upon fertile soil."

Gilbert took the seven biggest pods and went to the window, where he shucked the green-gray skins and used his claw-like nails to scrape the scale-like seeds off and out the window. They fluttered and scattered far down below on the ground. Gilbert then peeled the fleshy center of the pods away from the fluff and piled the fiber in a bowl. Little white tufts drifted through the air and settled over the floor and bedsheets.

Ludwig was suddenly in a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, Luddy?"

"The fluff looks like your hair!"

"It does?" Gilbert reached up and swiped through his downy, snowy hair. A few tufts of fiber floated down, and he noticed the resemblance. "Well, would you look at that. Just another reason to use this spell."

"As long as you're careful."

"Of course."

The changeling took the bowl of fluff and mixed it with his fingers. It felt as soft as new grass on a bright summer's midday, yet held its bearing as a witness to the brittle chill of autumn. It floofed up into a silken cloud of fiber. Tufts like fragile stars spilled over the rim.

Gilbert hummed as he began sewing a tiny cushion out of the wool. It didn't take long to finish and stuff it full with the milkweed fluff. He cut the thread and squeezed the cushion between his knees.

Ludwig opened the case and put the flute together, than passed it on to Gilbert. He raised it to his lips and blew. His heart sped, and a wonderful energy within him began to tug and twist into the shape of the musical spell. A haunting melody of October echoed throughout the room. It filled the space and howled around and around before settling itself into the little cushion. The wool pulsed to the rhythm, and the fluff within glowed moon-white in the darkness.

When Gilbert folded into the _fine,_ the cushion shimmered white, and little snakes of red energy crackled around it. Gently, he stroked it with a fingertip. The glow dulled, and the fairy stiffened.

"It works," he breathed.

"How is it working?"

He looked up at Ludwig with glittering ruby eyes and a frightening smile. "I feel _stronger._ More magical than ever before! I can feel magic tingling in my skin and pulsing in my bones! Butterfly magic is awesome! I should do this every autumn!"

"If it doesn't put you in bed."

"I don't feel sick! Not yet, anyway. Perhaps it will overwhelm me if I touch it too much. Better to keep it in a pocket. You put it in the pocket of my robe."

"Only if you promise to stop touching it if you feel the slightest bit weak."

The icy glare had returned.

Gilbert nodded. "I promise. I'll think of you. I'm not going to let you grow up without me just because I was stupid."

He then looked out at the moonless sky, and his ears twitched at the sound of owls hooting.

"So it's time?" Ludwig asked.

"Yes, it's time. I've packed away the potions that I think I'll use, and I've got my flute. I should be able to carry everything."

"When will you be back?"

"Expect me by noon tomorrow. I'm not flying too terribly far, but far enough that I won't be here by the time you wake. Remember to feed the chickens in the morning."

"I will. You be safe, now. I love you _."_

"Good boy. I love you, too. Now give your big brother a hug before his arms turn into wings."

Gilbert knelt, and the two embraced. Ludwig took care not to squeeze too tight, while Gilbert squeezed as tightly as he could with his limited strength. He rubbed little circles on Ludwig's back and tousled his hair. Then, with a smile, he planted a little kiss on Ludwig's forehead and gazed softly for a moment upon his cold yet sweet little face.

From then, the routine was unspoken. Gilbert removed his shirt and stockings. Ludwig positioned the satchel on the stone windowsill so it would be easy to pick up. Then the boy sat on his bed out of the way, and Gilbert stood, readying himself to transform.

He pictured his body. Gaunt, pale, sickly. Pointy ears, pointy nose, bony fingers and toes. Then he focused his mind on a completely different shape. Great black wings and a silver-hooked beak. Deadly talons and glossy feathers. Gilbert imagined himself shifting. Every tiny change needed to fit the new form entered his subconscious.

The pulse of magic within him awakened. An extraordinary pressure squeezed around Gilbert's frame as he began to shrink. He stretched out his arms and imagined the feelings of them elongating. The pulsing intensified, and suddenly, they were stretching by his command. The bones groaned and cracked from the strain, but all he perceived was the peculiar warm itching of transformation.

His hands tingled and bubbled, and his fingers melted and merged one by one, the bones fusing into the pointed ends of two new structures. Already in patches, little black quills were pushing through to the surface of his skin. They sprouted and burgeoned into feathers that turned his branch-like arms into a night-black wingspan twice the length of his body.

His stomach gurgled, and an internal pressure tightened as his insides squished and squirmed. He watched as his ribs visually crunched down and reshaped under his skin. It wasn't long before they had completely submerged under new flesh. His chest was puffing up with muscle on either side of a still-growing sternum. Black feathers cropped up and spread, blanketing his body in a new, downy warmth.

His neck popped, and there was a tight, pinching sensation as new vertebrae helped it to lengthen. His skull began to compress. White hair thickened into black feathers that tickled as they crept down his steadily unrecognizable face. For a moment, his vision blurred, and he was blind. Then, colors he had never seen before burst onto the scene in sharp, crisp definition. Gilbert tried the best he could to cross his new eyes. The tip of his nose had turned a dark gray-silver. His lips stiffened and melded with his teeth before protruding forward to meet with the wicked silver hook. Just one weapon out of the others to come.

His legs cracked and buckled when the feathers reached them. His knees weakened, and his thighs thinned, and soon they were enveloped by his swelling torso so only his feathery shins were visible. The skin of his feet toughened into a hide of golden scales. Five toes and the heel squeezed into four claws, and his toenails curled into wicked black talons.

The black feathers had nearly spread to every part of his transformed body. At last, they pulled at his backside, and a fan of them spread into a handsome tail. The change was finished. The heat and pressure faded.

He twisted his long, avian neck to look at Ludwig still seated on the bed. The boy was squirming and wringing his hands as though disturbed by what he'd seen. Usually it took him a while to accept that his brother's transformations were really quite painless. Gilbert clicked his beak and gave a haughty chirp to signify he was still quite sentient inside the eagle's body. He tried to smirk, but his stiff beak wouldn't allow it. The attempt, at least, seemed to ensure some security within Ludwig. The most endearing smile he'd produced in months spread upon his face.

Gilbert didn't have time to take it in. Black wings unfurled, and the red-eyed raptor flapped out of the crumpled trousers and up to the windowsill, where he took the satchel strap in his talons and flew off into the night.

* * *

The flight was difficult. Apart from straining his wings to accommodate the weight of the satchel and its contents, the lack of moonlight hindered his vision and obscured the land below. Gilbert had only the rushing of the river southward to know where he was going. Once or twice, his heart lurched when his grip on the strap slipped, and he couldn't see where to place his talons to secure it.

But this was no reason to postpone the raid. New moon held a special significance for Gilbert. It was a black time in more ways than one. Once upon a new moon, Gilbert himself had nearly been executed for taking the shape of a noble's son. Of _course_ the humans thought he was malicious. Of _course_ they thought he meant to steal the boy away. Of _course_ they didn't see that all Gilbert wanted was a friend who wouldn't run away in fear. So they trapped him in a pentagram of salt and tried to return him to the shadows that shaped him. Only the fortuitous appearance of the Dark Wizard Fritz could stop the iron arrows from piercing his chest.

Humans were superstitious. They took the new moon as a time when darkness was eternal, and so any changeling problems were taken care of when the moonlight couldn't direct dark energy back to the safety of the shadows. Gilbert's execution had been one instance. One out of uncountable instances…

After all, Fritz, Gilbert's bittersweet changeling mentor, had vanished without a trace…

The flickering of candles and gas lamps illuminated his destination, and Gilbert twittered an eagle's sigh of relief. Slowly, he circled the little city of Fulchen, eyeing its many structures, old and new. The clock tower still pointed to the sky like a jagged poker, and on the outskirts, a quaint little shop still lay humbly in its row. Gilbert had spent many days hiding in the back of that shop while his mentor Fritz pretended to be the human called Frederick. The kind mask was ever so thin. He was vindictive through and through, and his vengeful convictions were Gilbert's inheritance.

The black eagle folded his wings and dove down to the dusty yard behind the shop. The whole building was abandoned, yet stripped of its contents. Obviously the townspeople had noticed Frederick's disappearance… or facilitated it.

In a dark little corner, he deposited his load and rested. A mouse scurried past, and he snatched it up with his talons. It restored a modicum of strength. Gilbert would need all the energy he could muster for the night's activities. Curiously, he tugged on the robe in the satchel with his beak. The cushion still rested in one of the deep pockets. He lightly nibbled it with the hook, and the natural magic surged through him, making him instantly queasy and light-headed.

Steadying himself, he spread his wings and flew off again, this time navigating to the top of the clock tower. He perched on the rim of the belfry and rested. The city lay below.

On a lonely, brick-paved street, he saw a phantom human boy — about twelve — wearing a cloak and clutching a bundle in his arms. He shoved past phantom adults and walked awkwardly, as if he despised his feet beneath him. The bundle began to cry, and the boy stopped to frown down at it.

 _"_ _We're almost there,"_ he whispered in Gilbert's memory. _"You're hungry, aren't you? Fritz will have some nice mash."_

But as Gilbert watched, the boy and the bundle made their way to the little shop — a derelict hovel on the little street — and found no one inside to greet. No mash for the baby, and no relief from the clouds of bitterness aroused by the hordes of humans.

A tired longing hung in Gilbert's avian chest. So it had been that long. Nearly ten years of being on his own with no one to guide him. Nearly ten lonely years of uncertainty and worry for the future. Perhaps Fate really thought herself clever in tormenting him with mere _memories_ of misfortune while using Ludwig's encouraging presence to tease him.

But that was an evil thought. For as long as magic flowed in Gilbert's veins, he would allow no evil thing to touch his brother. He'd made a vow when the boy had been a babe in his arms to let no pain ever befall him. In the present, Ludwig was happy, and Gilbert should be as well. Misfortune was in the past, and Fate in the present was negligent. If she were real, she had forgotten about him. All he could do was tease _her_ and make her see that he had risen above the pain. That its memory could be squashed and dulled.

Perhaps by casting some curses.

Gilbert brought himself out of his reflections. It was time. He gripped the belfry rim with his talons and fluffed his feathers for warmth. Then, as the foulest songbird, he screeched and crooned into the chill stillness. His musical gift laced itself into a horrendous midnight solo — a portent of doom and a hellish summons that screamed, "Come into the night!"

A sparkle of delight lit up the eagle's ruby eyes when he saw the first few people staggering blindly out into the streets under the influence of his beckoning. Only a few were needed to begin the haunt. Others would follow later. It was human nature to flock to the site of disaster.

With a screech, he flung himself from the belfry and dove down to whip past the midnight wanderers and up into the sky again. Gasps and shrieks rang out when he showed off his talons. He made a few passes, then returned to the back lot behind the shop. As quickly as he could, Gilbert transformed back into a hideous fairy and whipped on his robe. He piled the potions into his pockets and tucked his flute into his sleeve. Then, as dramatically as he could for his audience of one, he drew up his hood and plopped it down so the only part of his face not shrouded in shadow was his crooked smirk.

He easily squeezed between two boards of the fence closing in the yard and sauntered proudly to the heart of the little city. The eagle's spell was wearing off, and the people were slowly making their way back inside, telling themselves it had been naught but an apparition. How wrong they were, and how slow!

Gilbert clambered up onto a stone fountain. Its water was green and choked with dead, crinkled leaves. "People of Fulchen!" He cried, spreading his stick-thin arms above his head. "You dare turn your backs on me!?"

An older man turned and shot Gilbert what looked to be his perpetual scowl, then muttered something about drunken youngsters.

"I am quite real! No apparition! I am the Dark Wizard Gilbert, and I've come bearing doom and horror tonight!"

"I'll call the night guard!" The old man rasped.

"So you think I'm just some teenage troublemaker, do you? You didn't see the black eagle? He wasn't an apparition either! He's my familiar! It's his duty to tell me who looks ready to be cursed!"

A woman scoffed. "A sinful art, wizardry. You have no qualms with us, 'Gilbert'. Just go back home and take that silly robe off."

 _Their denial is always so fun. Now, what shall my prelude be?_

He decided quickly enough and raised his flute to his lips. His melody, if it could be called as such, was vile and discordant. He ran up and down scales with sickening amounts of accidentals and _marcatos_ placed in the most inappropriate places. The humans shifted in sudden anxiety. The realization took hold that this was no teenage troublemaker, but a real wizard.

It was an anxiety that soon turned to pain. The humans began to shriek and clutch at their necks. Their eyes were wild, and they whipped around to look at each other with the same terrified shock. Gilbert felt a laugh bubble up in his throat, but forced his lips to stay pursed.

The old man was trying to force himself toward Gilbert, but his knees buckled before him, and the woman was dashing away, but she broke into a coughing fit. None of them could get very far before tearing at their necks again. The shrieking soon turned into cooing and cheeping and squawking. Their accursed throats could only produce the voices of birds.

"Perfect!" Gilbert cried. "You see that I'm serious! Now, where are my manners? I still haven't introduced myself completely. I am the Dark Wizard Gilbert! The Terror of Volkerburg! I come only with the intention of satisfying my heartless desires this accursed night!"

He concluded his introduction by throwing his head back and cackling. The performance had been repeated so many times at home that Ludwig only rolled his eyes and scoffed whenever Gilbert rehearsed.

He marched past the people with bird voices and tittered at their ghostly expressions. Some still scratched at their necks in desperate hope that the curse was only a relentless itch.

Already, more were following in their footsteps, daring to venture out to see what the commotion had been. Gilbert slipped one bony hand into his pocket and stroked the Magic Puff of Milkweed Fluff. He shuddered at the magical energy spiking up his finger. He could feel his power boiling within him now. With the prelude finished, the real mischief could begin.

A little squadron of night guards had indeed seen him, and they rushed over intending to separate him from his flute and bring him to the ground. He took a potion bottle from his pocket and shattered it on the ground before them. A sickly green smoke puffed from the shards into a thick haze. All around, the guards began to cough. Their silhouettes shivered and stumbled in the magical substance. The smoke dissipated, but it had done its damage. In a much similar fashion to the first group, they screamed and clawed at their legs so savagely that holes were ripped in the fabric of their trousers and stockings.

Their legs were rippling and thinning. The hair curled and wilted away as the skin darkened into a rough, scaly hide. The ankles stretched, and the knees locked themselves up. Then great claws burst through the soles of leather boots and grappled blindly for something to hold — to perch on. The guards rolled in agony on their backs, their birdish legs twitching.

So he was partial to bird curses this night. Gilbert didn't mind. He had begun to miss all the feathered friends who had already migrated for winter. Perhaps this raid would be a tribute to both Fritz and his beloved birds.

It was a mistake to tarry pondering this, as the woman from before, who had gained the voice of a bird, threw herself upon him, hitting and squawking. Gilbert buckled down onto his knees and gripped his hood so tightly the claw of his thumb dug into his finger. After struggling for a bit, he found a little blue vial and smashed it on the pavement, then held his breath when the smoke clouded up. The woman's unconscious form peeled off his back and lay crumpled on the ground.

In the great cloud of sleeping potion, he made his escape. Gilbert ducked into an alleyway and came out on quite another street. Gas lights had flared on in buildings, and anxious onlookers were peering out of windows. In a showy sort of way, Gilbert skulked slowly down the street, playing horrid little melodies on his flute the same way Fritz had done so long ago.

Those who came out to meet him were met with bird legs and squawking voices and other petty enchantments. A man twice his size, who barreled out of a house toward him, found his arms permanently locked in a Y-shape to serve as suitable perches. A guard who nearly grabbed Gilbert's arm found his lips stiffening and protruding forward into a finch's beak. Gilbert saw a curious old woman and wondered whether to contort her into the bedraggled black horridness of a corvid, but decided her rheumatism was pain enough and simply made her smell irresistibly like birdseed.

Once enough people had been cursed to start a real panic, Gilbert's smirk stretched to its limits. He felt as though he were the most powerful and terrible being in Volkerburg. The humans had no clue he was a changeling taking revenge for all their hatred! He was simply terrifying without even revealing his ears or his fangs!

And the fear of all he demonstrated for was simply _delicious._ He drank deeply from the screams and the trembling. He cackled at the plumes sprouting from the humans' skin. He was beside himself at the feathers that manifested deep within and forced their way up victims' throats to be coughed out. What lovely chaos! What beautiful misery!

 _If Fate exists, then_ I _am him, now,_ Gilbert thought with a wild sparkle in his eyes. His changeling heart pounded with mischievous glee. He squeezed his bony hand around the milkweed charm and laughed when its power crackled and hummed around him. His magic poured itself into concertos of malediction. His fingers flew over the keys of his flute as he weaved curse after curse and fed off scream after scream.

And then his vision faltered.

Gilbert jolted. He ripped his flute from his lips and looked around. Where was he? Had he been in such a fervor that he hadn't looked where he was going? He now found himself in a dark corner of the city completely free of activity. Had he cursed every human here? It was a feat he knew he couldn't accomplish by himself.

His vision blurred again. Gilbert swayed. A wave of nausea rolled through his shrunken abdomen. He took the milkweed charm and threw it away from him before sinking to his knees. His heart still pounded in his chest, and his bony body felt feeble under the pressure of the energy swirling and seething within.

 _Ludwig! Think of Ludwig!_ He urged. He saw the face of the little boy — his blue eyes, his blond bangs, his endearing smile. Gilbert forced himself onto trembling legs and brushed off his robe. He then let out a string of rasping coughs that rattled his whole frame. The chill of the night nipped at his pointy nose. His legs threatened to buckle again, but he held himself upright and forced the image of Ludwig to the front of his consciousness. It was not the time to pass out from changeling sickness! Not when there were still guards braving the darkness to look for him! And not when he'd promised Ludwig he'd be safe!

The flickering of candlelight caught his eye. Gilbert looked to see a bigger house with its front door still unlocked. He stumbled forward and up the steps. Perhaps there was cream inside! He turned the handle and pushed the door open. Yellow wallpaper and oaken tables met his gaze.

As if composed of shadows, Gilbert crept silently down the hallway and peered into a quaint living room. Lacy white curtains were drawn over the windows. A few newly-upholstered chairs framed a side table, and a pianoforte dominated the wall across from them. This family must have been fairly well-off to afford such an instrument.

The family! Gilbert held absolutely still and twitched his ears. There was movement above his head. Most likely someone was stirring upstairs. He fingered his flute just in case. From now on, he was on the defensive. His safety came before any cream he found, as much as he disliked to admit it.

Down the hall, he found the prize of a little kitchen furnished with indoor plumbing for the sink and a tall wooden icebox he at first mistook for a set of cabinets. He lifted the latch on the lowest door, his mouth watering in anticipation of some half-empty cream bottles or even a morsel of meat.

Sound, movement, light.

Gilbert's left ear twitched. There was a figure standing in the doorway — a tall, balding man with a thick beard. He was in his linens, and even without the candlelight, Gilbert's night vision made out the contours of a scowl upon his countenance.

"Just what do you think you're doing in my house?" He asked, his voice deep and fearless.

Gilbert, though cautious, wasn't yet ready to dispose of his arrogance. "Even a dark wizard needs to eat. I can't cast curses without keeping my strength up."

"So it _is_ you. You're the vile creature making people into grotesques."

"My name is Gilbert, but 'vile creature' is also quite accurate."

Gilbert could see the man's eyes twitch upward, and his acute senses registered there was someone behind him now as well. He kept his hearing trained on his back. One hand was firmly gripping the flute.

"Don't you _dare_ pull that devilish instrument of yours out. I have a daughter of eight. Do you want her to wake up in the morning to find her father contorted into some caricature to satisfy your bird-addled brain?"

"Well, if you will kindly let me devour everything in your icebox, maybe she won't have to."

Movement behind, coming closer.

Gilbert whipped around, and there behind him was a petite blonde woman, clearly the man's wife, with her hands up as if she meant to throw them around his chest and pull him to the floor. He raised his flute to his lips.

And the man, in no time at all, came at him from the other angle and ripped his hood off.

Gilbert's thin lips were already parted to blow into his flute. Two needle-sharp fangs curved past his pointed teeth. Blood-colored eyes went wide when he realized his face was free of shadows. The candlelight enveloped his hollow cheeks and pallid skin.

"He's not even _human!"_ The woman screeched so loudly that a pan fell from its hook and clattered loudly on the floor. "Monster! He's a _monster!"_

"I am a _fairy_ of _darkness!"_ Gilbert shrieked in retort. His chest tightened. No one had ever seen his face before! No one was supposed to know he wasn't human! His race was to remain uncertain! Uncertainty was frightening!

"Fairy of darkness," the man said to himself. He then stomped to the far windowsill and snatched up the pair of scissors lying there. Gilbert squealed at the sight. His instincts pleaded for him to run and escape before the iron's touch could burn him.

But no! No one could know of his true identity! That would overthrow the entire operation! Piyo Fortress would no longer be safe! They'd find him and seize him and try to dispose of him all over again! And Ludwig…

They would take Ludwig away and raise him among humans.

Gilbert's anger burned through the fear. He narrowed his gaze at the assailant. The woman's thick arms squeezed around his stomach and pulled him backwards. She continued to weep and moan. Her deep jade eyes were as big as forest pools.

"Take him somewhere else! And don't kill him! Let him go into the forest!"

"If this is the same Dark Wizard Gilbert that showed up when I was in Müldorf a few months ago, he deserves nothing less than his return to the shadows!" The husband howled.

He rushed at the changeling, clutching the scissors with white knuckles. The blades glinted orange and black in the candlelight. In an instant, Gilbert's rage evaporated, and nothing existed but the iron. His mind blanked. His limbs ceased to function. The air sounded distant and metallic. He could _hear_ the iron. He could _taste_ it. It tasted of ashes.

Gilbert wailed, and his wailing was so swollen with terror that it caused a spinning squall to manifest right there in the little kitchen. Pans blew from their hooks. The icebox toppled over and spilled its contents. Jars of spices fell from their shelves and shattered on the floor. The couple were blown off their feet, and Gilbert clutched the stones of the fireplace and shuddered in panic.

His fit lasted for minutes on end, but when he finally surfaced from the terror, he could still see the man inching toward him with the scissors.

 _Now or never, before I lose myself,_ Gilbert thought darkly. He fished out his flute and raised it to his lips, then played the curse he'd been practicing for months. He begged the music to lift his soul out of the viscid black memories threatening to consume him. In the present, he was _happy!_ He was _safe! Nothing_ could touch him! He was _awesome!_

He couldn't focus on the melody, nor on the shrieking and writhing of the couple as their minds dissolved and degenerated into those of chickens. Gilbert played for hours after they stared at him dumbly and nestled down clucking on top of the fallen icebox.

He remembered when he first discovered the baby human wrapped in a robe and mewling on his doorstep. He remembered when he'd first transformed in front of the boy, and Ludwig had tried to pet his feathers with chubby hands. He remembered when Ludwig had gotten sunburned, and together they prepared a potion to cure him. He remembered reading the stories and sewing up his robe and picking milkweed pods. He remembered all the goodness in his life. All the light flickering in his maelstrom of fear and hatred.

Gilbert played the song of his fortitude until the stars began to fade. Then he picked himself up, said goodbye to the humans with the minds of chickens, and slinked off into the dwindling darkness.

If he only knew what he had wrought that night…

* * *

"No! Never again! _Never_ again!"

Gilbert cracked the weakest smirk. He felt so light and detached from reality. Was it the weakness of his body or the warmth of the soup lulling him to sleep in his cozy bed?

"Don't you dare smirk at me. You _promised_ you wouldn't overwork yourself! And what do I find? You come home hours after you said you would and crash into my bed with all your feathers matted and the satchel all wet because you dropped it in the river! And then you started transforming, but you just fell over unconscious, and now you're so weak you can barely _move!_ Gilbert, brother, I… I just don't know what to do with you!"

Gilbert peered to his left. His vision wasn't the clearest, but he could still make out the watery redness in his little brother's icy eyes. No more raids for a while, he decided. Not until the boy could trust him again.

"Luddy," he whispered.

"No excuses! I wish you could see yourself right now! You're so... so _frail!"_

"I'm not going to die, my _Tauschlein."_

"I'll make sure you don't!"

Gilbert closed his eyes and wiggled to get comfortable under the covers. He could barely feel his limbs. His agitated magic throbbed, and a fierce hunger was clawing at him. But his kind were born sickly, and he'd been sick enough to know this was far from the worst. This was just… familiar old weakness.

"Oh, Luddy, what will you be like when you're all grown up?"

"And now you're just delirious from the fever. You are hopeless!"

"You don't have to worry about me. Fairies heal fast. I'll feel better by tomorrow."

"If it was me in your position, you'd _never_ leave the bedside. Now open your mouth. You can sleep when this soup bowl is empty."

The changeling let out the faintest puff of rasping laughter. Ten, ten, ten, and Ludwig was already acting twice his age. Or at least, how Gilbert thought he should act twice his age.

* * *

 **~N~**

 **Happy Halloween! Inspired by all the milkweed pods I saw along my walk one day and the fact that I've never detailed Gilbert's raids as the dark wizard.  
**

 **If you're new to Fataverse, welcome! Make sure to fave, review, and visit my profile for more magical adventures!**

 **Published on FanFiction . Net October 30, 2018 by Syntax-N. If you reproduce this work in any way, Gilbert will find you, and he will curse you.**


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